Lull
by ShonenAiSorcerer
Summary: It's the in-betweens that really count. Yohji/Aya


Notes: Another one-shot (maybe). I think this definitely needs a WAFF warning, though I tried not to go overboard with dramatic confessions or anything…

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Lull

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"What are you doing?"

Yohji looked up from his absentminded surfing of mid-afternoon television. He had taken the early shift that morning, and was, honestly, bored out of mind by the useless hours between one and five, too late to sleep, too early to go out. He had spent a few minutes making himself lunch, a few more fiddling with his out of tune Fender, but had ultimately found himself staring at the television screen in desperate need of distraction.

It was hardly an activity that merited a question, let alone a question from Aya who, if Yohji was to be honest with himself, might not ask even if he walked in on Yohji wearing a vinyl catsuit and humping a linebacker. Okay, maybe he'd ask about the linebacker, but the catsuit, nope, no chance. And now he wanted to know about the television?

Sure enough, Aya was standing, leaning really, in the doorway, looking thin and almost young in his blue t-shirt and jeans. He studied Yohji with eyes that genuinely questioned.

"Nothing," the blonde finally returned, dropping his feet off the coffee table before he got a lecture for it. Leaning forward, he even remembered to grab a magazine to use as a coaster when he sat his glass down.

"You're not busy?"

Did Aya want him to go back to work? It wasn't unheard of, but it was hardly the way the man usually asked. Well, asked was a nice way of putting it; he generally stuck his head in the door and demanded Yohji's ass find its way to the shop before he decided to come in and kick it severely.

Plus, he wasn't wearing his apron. And it was Tuesday. Nobody besides little old ladies and people visiting sick friends wanted flowers on Tuesday.

"Not really," he managed to sound like he hadn't thought anything of answering.

Aya nodded, but stood where he was, silent.

Yohji set the remote down beside him on the couch arm but continued to pretend to watch the latest thing that had caught his attention: several men were trying to construct a catapult in order to send long-range pumpkin missiles across a junkyard.

Then Aya moved, slowly, gracefully as always. Yohji looked up and smiled a little when the younger man stood close beside him. His first thought, though he dismissed it quickly, was that maybe Aya wanted to go upstairs for an afternoon quickie. His lover was always shy about asking for things like that, but even so, he wasn't getting a fuck-me-now vibe from him.

Then Aya crawled into his lap.

Yohji's mind took another detour into vinyl catsuit territory when the redhead straddled his legs and took a seat on his thighs. Strong arms looped around him neck and Aya leaned close. But he didn't so much as brush Yohji's lips, unconsciously (maybe) denying the blonde the passionate kiss he was suddenly geared up for. Instead, those soft lips brushed his cheek lightly just before Aya laid his head on Yohji's shoulder and seemed to settle in to rest.

Neither said anything for a few minutes. Letting his arms slips from around Yohji's neck, Aya folded them instead next to his lover's sides, hands holding, gently, the fabric of Yohji's shirt as he tucked his face into the crook of the blonde's neck, ticking the skin there with the soft, warm exhalations of his breath.

"Is this okay?" he asked, very quietly.

Breaking out of the daze he had fallen into, Yohji smiled and pressed a kiss into Aya's hair. He was glad to wrap his arms around the smaller man, pulling him a little closer in the restful embrace.

"Fine with me."

"Are you sure?"

He sounded so uncertain, like they were trying to sort out some complex position from page forty-two of the kama sutra.

"Yes."

Yohji decided not to leave any room for doubt by replying with something clever; it was too nice to have Aya there in his arms. The man was warm and just a little clingy, expressing what Yohji thought was a desperate need for human contact. He hid it well, but Yohji had more than a sneaking suspicion that given opportunities and a boost of confidence, Aya would probably be a cuddler. He liked the thought.

Currently, instances of cuddling were far and few between. Their relationship seemed to work on a switch, either professional and cold and not touching at all or heated, grabbing immersion in sex. Yohji missed the inbetweens, and Aya, if he was correct in his assumptions, needed to experience them for the first time. The blonde often hesitated in putting his arm around the younger man or taking his hand because he never knew how Aya would react, but if this was any indication, they could be snuggling on the couch much more often.

Yes, it was definitely all right with Yohji.

"If I get heavy—"

"Shh," he risked cutting off the soft speech. "You're fine. Just rest, Aya."

He felt the barest of nods against his shoulder then, sitting very still, was amazed when the redhead fell asleep. Aya's back rose and fell in a deep, slow rhythm, and once, much to Yohji's delight, he made a small sound and cuddled closer.

Yohji's stare was directed at the TV screen, but for the next thirty minutes his thoughts ran only around Aya, reveling in the feel of closeness, celebrating the presence of something that he often feared was lacking in their relationship, and luxuriating the physical presence of the man: his weight, his heat, the subtle smell of his shampoo. Honeysuckles.

Half drifting himself, Yohji perked up (fighting the urge to tense his body lest he disturb Aya) when the backdoor opened and shut quietly. Aya shifted but didn't wake. A few seconds later, Omi stepped into the room looking tired, obviously having finished cleaning up the shop. He stopped short, eyes going wide and desperate for just a second (probably in reaction to seeing the two men in close proximity, a situation that usually meant one or the other of them was or was soon to be unclothed and that the unlucky observer was going to be in deep dutch for the next few days when either of them noticed his presence). But Yohji smiled, and, with a tilt of his head, Omi took a few silent steps to look from behind the couch. Coming back around (equally silent in his movement), he gave Yohji a questioning smile. The blonde raised his eyebrows in reply, insinuating that he didn't know but he liked it. Then, he tightened his hold on Aya's thin waist, just a bit; Omi got the message and exited as soundlessly as he had come.

Ken never came in, and Yohji could only imagine Omi had waylaid him and sent him directly upstairs.

Only when the kettle whistled on the stove did Aya rouse, not a quick jerking backwards or the wide-eyed, tense start that sometimes brought him out of the brief, post-sex drowse, no, Aya shifted a little, yawned with a small noise that made Yohji wish could see it, and finally excavated his head from Yohji's neck. With one arm stretched over Yohji's shoulder and his hand on the back of the couch, he used the other to push back the disarray of his bangs and, to Yohji's delight, rub his eyes.

That almost childish motion was the highlight of his day until Aya leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. Drawing back, he gave a quiet, "Thank you."

Yohji felt warm and happy, managing only a, "Welcome," before Omi called them for dinner.

Aya was off his lap and offering him a tiny, almost sheepish half-smile, then he turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving Yohji to realize that there was something else he wanted to say.

~end?~

Notes: The Evil Hentai Slug wants to take all the warm and fuzzies and use them make his hentai lemon cakes, so if you like them on their own (or, conversely, like them with lemon) please review!


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